


Rolling Hills and Wildflowers

by viv_is_spooky



Series: Night Vale Vignettes [2]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Canon-Typical Amnesia, Cecil May Have a Bit of a Crush on Their Traveling Partner, Cecil Palmer’s Fashion Sense, Cecil’s Fear of Mirrors, Cecil’s Travels to Europe, Childhood Memories, Friendship, Gen, Murderous Flowers, Non-Binary Cecil Palmer, Panic Attack, Spoilers for A Memory of Europe, Spoilers for Go to the Mirror?, Svitz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26531464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viv_is_spooky/pseuds/viv_is_spooky
Summary: Svitz requires the buddy system - best way to make sure nobody gets eaten by the flowers  in The Ravine.
Relationships: Cecil Palmer & Original Character(s)
Series: Night Vale Vignettes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928620
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Rolling Hills and Wildflowers

**Author's Note:**

> Song Recommendation: “Sounds Like Somewhere” by Lily & Madeleine

Cecil doesn’t remember the plane touching down. One moment they’re gazing out an airplane windows, meditating on how the wispy clouds below them swirl between opaque and translucent like their childhood memories; the next, they‘re standing on top of a hill, ankle-deep in green grass stirred by a slight breeze. The hill is one of many, all stretching out across a rolling countryside for what seems to be miles around them. 

The implicit knowledge that they will find a place to stay somehow nudges its way into their brain just as they’re starting to edge into panic. So they take a deep breath, and - as is the custom when one is lost in a strange place with amnesia about their arrival - spin until they topple over with dizziness and then begin walking in the direction their feet pointed when they fell.

They lose track of how long they walk, glittery purple duffel bag slung over one shoulder as they try to hum along to the strange, discordant harmonies of distant voices.

(The voices never get any closer, evenwhen Cecil starts to near a rickety wooden building they assume to be some kind of hotel.)

The hotel lays past the grassy hills, on the side of a much steeper hill populated by vibrant wildflowers and thorny bushes.

The steps up to the door of the hotel creak like the stairway in their childhood home, and a foggy memory flashes into their head of their mother warning them to tread lightly (so as not to arouse the anger of the spirits in the floorboards by stomping).

They remember the bedtime story she used to tell them, of the boy so curious that his path in life led him to become a tree. They glance down at the wooden floorboards they are now tiptoeing upon, wondering whose souls lay within the eyelike knots that stare back up at them.

At the top of the steps, Cecil raps four times on the window next to the door.

“Why knock on the window?” asks a voice from over their shoulder. Cecil startles and turned to see a person studying them with pale blue eyes. The person is stunning, with a pale complexion luminous as the new moon, hair that brushes their shoulders like a broom’s bristles upon the floor, and thick blonde eyelashes.

“Interloper!” They shout in greeting, before remembering that  _ No Cecil, you are not in Night Vale. The correct greeting is “Stranger!” in this scenario. _

The person next to them stares at them with a furrowed brow for a moment, then responds. “Right. I’m your traveling partner, Briar.”

“I... don’t remember  having a traveling partner.”

Briar shrugs. “Svitz requires the buddy system - best way to make sure nobody gets eaten by the flowersin The Ravine.”

“Ah.” Cecil’s mother had told them a bedtime story about that, too. “I’m Cecil.” They extend their hand for a handshake, and Briar takes it. Their grip is firm, bringing Cecil’s wandering mind down to earth. They’re hesitant to let go when the handshake is done, but they do. 

And then there is someone standing in the doorway, short in stature but tall in presence. “Briar! Good to see you back here, lad!”

Briar gives a small smile. “This is Iris,” he says to Cecil. “She owns this place.”

Iris surveys Cecil with wide, dark eyes.“New visitor, I see. Who are you?”

“Cecil! Cecil Gershwin Palmer.”

“You a lad?”

“I’m...” Cecil pauses for a moment, glancing up at the ceiling as if the eyes in the wood there might blink out the proper response in morse code for them (hey, it’s happened before). The eyes just stare back at them, unmoving. Cecil is not a “lad.” Cecil is...what are they? At a loss for how to precede, they blurt out the first thing that comes to mind: “...an entity!”

Iris doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, entity, let’s set you and the lad up in the room.”

“Which room?” Cecil asks, having noticed at least three or four doors on the floor of the second story Iris is leading them and Briar towards.

“Room 3, of course,” she replies. “That’s the only one that isn’t haunted.”

“Where am I?” Cecil asks, realizing he’s forgotten the destination of his flight.

“Svitz,” Briar replies. “Don’t look for it when you get home - it won’t appear on the maps.”

“My hometown doesn’t appear on maps either sometimes.”

“All the best places don’t,” Iris interjects with a conspiratorial wink. Then she motions to the door they’ve stopped in front of. “Here we are, lad and entity, room 3.”

Cecil steps inside the room, flinging their duffel bag - that thing was  heavy \- upon one of its two beds. When they turn to look back towards the door, Iris has disappeared Briar continues to stand in the open doorway for a moment, eyes following the cloud of glitter that rises up from Cecil’s bag as it shimmers in the air and then drifts down with gravity, moving like the contents of a snow globe. Then, he gives Cecil a little smile, steps inside, and closes the door.

And there is... there is a  mirror , full-length and and shining with intended malice, on the back of the door.

Cecil’s vision blurs, and the world spins, and they can hear blood pounding in their ears as their heartbeat accelerates, breathing getting shallower shallower shallower and they are  frozen . Locked in place, locked in time, locked in space.

They are frozen, until they are not. Until they are running full speed at the mirror to destroy it before that dreaded creature can appear over their shoulder.

They leap into the air, years of self-defense training at Night Vale Community College guiding their movements, and direct a spinning side-kick into the center of the cursed reflective glass. The sole of one light-up combat boot slams into it, and it shatters, sending sprays of sharp shards across the room.

Cecil sinks to the ground as the reality of what they’ve done sinks in. They’ve destroyed part of a hotel where they’re supposed to be a  guest . And while breaking windows is perfectly normal during a hotel stay, breaking mirrors is  not.

Briar gasps and runs across the room to kneel at Cecil’s side. “Cecil, are you okay?” He takes Cecil’s hand in his, examining the small cuts across it with concern.

“I’m a bad guest,” Cecil chokes out under their breath.

“Breaking mirrors is okay here - just don’t pry up the floorboards.”

“Really?” Cecil turns to look at Briar, hoping the hesitant relief in their eyes doesn’t come across as desperate.

“Really.” Briar gives a reassuring smile, resting his hand firmly on Cecil’s shoulder. And Cecil, still with blood welling up violet in their cuts, silently thanks the old gods for cultural differences.


End file.
